Fugitive Man Page 4

  Another agent and I found the alleged wanted man at his place of employment. He was impeccably dressed, well tanned, and looked as though he could have been fresh off the cover of GQ. After we introduced ourselves, I told the guy that we understood the FBI was looking for him, as he was wanted in California. He was quite articulate and smoothly assured us that there must have been a mistake, and he offered to show us his Texas Drivers License. I advised him that for us to resolve the matter we were going to have to take his fingerprints, and 45 minutes thereafter, we would know who he was. I added that, if he were lying, he would be charged with the felony crime of lying to an FBI agent, punishable by ten years in prison. (True statement. It’s a felony to lie to an FBI agent unless, of course, you were one of my three teen-aged sons.) I also informed him that if he was wanted and was honest with us, we would bring the fact of his cooperation to the attention of the prosecutor.

  I was bluffing, as we had little justification to detain him long enough to get a fingerprint match. At that time, circa ’87-’88, the process of taking his prints, enlarging each one, placing each separate print on one of those old drum fax machines, and then sending them in to the FBI’s Identification Division would have taken more than an hour, followed by a several hour wait, if we were lucky, for the Identification Division to hand-search the fugitive prints. We knew we simply could not detain him for that long a time. (Things sure have changed. Prints are now optically scanned, and you can obtain a wanted/not wanted determination in a couple of minutes.)

  But, sometimes a bluff works. In this case, he decided to come clean and tell us who he was. We then had the NCIC clerk in our office conduct an NCIC wanted person inquiry and quickly determined that he was, in fact, a wanted man in California.

  However, it wasn’t for embezzlement.

  He was a serial rapist.

  He had warrants outstanding in California for multiple counts of kidnapping and rape. When given his rights, he decided he wanted to speak to an attorney, so we verified he was wanted with authorities in California and transported him to the Harris County Jail in downtown Houston where we turned him over to the Harris County Sheriff’s Department to be held for California authorities. It was a good day.

  You never knew where a fugitive investigation might take you. On one occasion, two other agents and I paid a 5:00 a.m. visit to the home of a Houston Rocket and arrested his friend who was wanted up north for Murder. The player came walking out of his room rubbing his eyes. It was a sight to see. NBA players are often really, really large in person and this guy fit that bill. His shock at learning what we were doing led me to believe he had no idea the trouble his friend was in. Nevertheless, the Rocket’s front office was not very happy with that player. I think he may have been traded the following year.

  One of the crimes the FBI addresses is interference with child custody, also known as parental kidnapping. When a parent takes a child from the other parent and runs away without proper custody agreements, a local arrest warrant for parental kidnapping is often issued. Once that warrant is issued, if the local investigators determine a likelihood that the parent has taken the child across state lines, the FBI can be requested to obtain an unlawful flight warrant and then to locate and arrest the parent and return the child.

  One such case I remember well. The subject, a Vietnamese woman married to a US Army veteran, had taken her nine-year-old daughter from a northern state and was thought to be somewhere in Texas. I could find no record of the mother anywhere in Texas. So, with a subpoena for school records in hand, I approached school district administrations seeking the child. I located the child in a Houston elementary school. After explaining the issues to the school principal, the principal told me that the child was a gifted student who got along well with other students and was doing exceptionally well in her new school.

  The school had an address for the child’s home that turned out to be no good.

  The next day, after obtaining the child’s photo from the principal, I waited on a side street near the school and observed the child walk out of the school and head down the street. I followed from a distance and observed her arrive at a nearby apartment complex and walk up the stairs and into a second floor apartment. After a short time, the child and her mother walked out of the apartment. I intercepted them at the bottom of the stairs.

  The mother and child began to cry. We sat down to discuss the situation. While the mother had difficulty with English, the nine-year-old child was quite articulate. The child told me that she and her mother had been forced to run as her father had been regularly beating her mother. The child then asked me, “Have you ever seen ‘The Burning Bed’?” I told her I had. The child stated, “That’s something my mother could identify with.” For those not familiar, The Burning Bed was a 1984 TV movie, based on a true story, about an abused woman who set her bed on fire and killed her husband. The precocious child also told me that her father “had money” and was getting away with abusing her mother.

  The child was incredibly convincing, and I believed her. Here I was, about to place the mother in jail and ultimately send the child back to a potentially horrendous situation. I decided to see what I could do to help.

  The federal government has a system of public defense attorneys who are federal employees. I ran into them from time to time in federal court and knew a couple of them to say hello to. One, who struck me as a decent person and good attorney, was Mike Wallace. I contacted Mike the same day I arrested the woman and explained the situation. Mike then really came through. Not only did Mike represent the woman in Houston, but he also, through his contacts, obtained competent representation for her in her home state. He went the extra mile for the poor lady, and I really appreciated it. I never heard the outcome of the case from up north, but I know that Mike Wallace and I did what we could do in Houston to help the woman and her child get a fair chance in the justice system. (In case you were not aware, the justice system isn’t always fair. I’ve borne witness to that fact on several occasions.)

  CHAPTER TEN

  SPECIAL AGENT PHIL STOKES

  Phil Stukes was with me on many arrests. Besides being a great guy, he was a solid, dependable agent with whom I enjoyed working. Phil is also African American. That fact led to a couple of interesting events.

  Once, Phil and I were out with a brand new agent, also an African American, giving the new agent an arrest experience in downtown Houston. A fugitive wanted for assault on a police officer was walking from a Houston business, and we pulled up in our car to take him into custody. He cooperated with us without a problem and admitted his identity. Normally, we would have taken him off the street quickly and been on our way, but he had a friend with him, on who we needed to run NCIC wanted-person inquiries. So we handcuffed both men, and while Phil and the new agent detained the fugitive and his friend on the sidewalk, I made radio contact with our office to run an NCIC wanted-person inquiry.

  As was often the case when making an arrest in downtown Houston, a group of street people gathered to watch. I was waiting for the FBI radio room to get back to me and overheard the conversation between a couple spectators. It went like this:

  Male #1: They’re HPD. (That would be the Houston Police Department)

  Male #2: No way they’re HPD. They’re Texas Rangers!

  Male #1: Don’t be stupid. Ain’t no way the Texas Rangers got two black Rangers!

  He was probably right. The first African American Texas Ranger was appointed in September of 1988, which was right about the time we had this encounter. (And it turned out the guy walking with our fugitive was also wanted.)

  On another occasion, while out with Phil and that same new agent, we arrested a white fugitive, processed him, and transported him to the Harris County Jail in downtown Houston. (Last I heard, the Harris County Jail in downtown Houston frequently has a daily inmate population of about 10,000.)

  That new African American
agent was a sharp dresser. He wore clothes that would not have stood out in New York, Los Angeles, or other northern cities. On this day, he was wearing a well-tailored dark sharkskin suit. He looked good, but I guess it was a suit you did not often see in Texas.

  As Phil and I walked in with the white fugitive and the new agent, the deputy behind the counter took one look at the new agent in the sharkskin suit and ordered him to, “Empty your pockets!” Phil and I laughed out loud, but it was a somewhat uncomfortable laugh. It seemed a humorous mistake, but I was sorry the new agent had been the target of stereotyping by the deputy.

  I believe it’s sometimes not easy being a person of color in law enforcement, dealing with parts of society that judge individuals by the color of their skin. It’s a complex problem. I’ve always thought that having diversity in law enforcement would help address the problem. If a community is 33 percent white, 33 percent Latino, and 33 percent African American, the police department would probably get along better with the community if the police department’s racial makeup, and management structure, reflected those percentages.

  I’ve read many accounts of questionable officer-involved shootings of persons of color. It’s been characterized by some as a need for more training for police officers. I certainly believe in ongoing and meaningful training. But I’ve worked with police in many agencies all over the country and I know the rogue officer is a rarity. There are easily over a million traffic stops a day in the U.S., and you never hear about them unless something goes terribly wrong. I hear the argument that something has to be done with out-of-control police. Well, the number of “out-of-control” police is very, very low and does not reflect the behavior of the vast majority of police officers. The public needs to recognize that and also recognize and appreciate that police officers work around the clock to maintain a safe environment for their communities.

  That said, the dual standard by which different members of society are addressed should be continuously examined. Training must be ongoing and meaningful. It’s not always a matter of the person’s color. It’s often the person’s economic situation that changes how the person is approached and handled by police officers. In my experience, double standards exist and most often reflect economic differences in the community.

  The people in poor economic situations need to see the police as more than just enforcers of the law. They need to see the police as public servants, helping their communities be safe. That requires the police to not only enforce the law, but to also have meaningful, non-enforcement contact with the community. That’s often called community policing. As the police and the public they serve get to know one another, a two-way channel of trust and understanding can be developed. That leads to more efficient policing, better community relations, and lower crime rates. Of course, what I describe presupposes that the police department has sufficient officers to allow them to take the time to get to know their communities. Understaffed police departments have a difficult if not impossible task in addressing community policing. You can’t take the time to get to know the community if, all shift long, you’re running from one 911 call to another. Community policing doesn’t work without sufficient personnel in the department. That requires funding. It’s money well spent.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARCUS HAMILTON

  UFAP - CAPITAL MURDER

  New Year’s Eve in Texas, as in many states, is celebrated with fireworks. We had a tradition at our house in Texas of putting on a pretty decent fireworks display, with large bottle rockets and oversized mortar shells. On New Year’s Eve, 1987, we had several neighbors over at the house for a cookout and fireworks. It’s a New Year’s Eve I’ll always remember. The cookout had to start without me since I was quite late coming home.

  Saint Joseph’s Society of the Sacred Heart, known as the Josephites, are a community of Roman Catholic priests founded in Mill Hill, England, in 1866. In 1871, four Mill Hill priests came to the United States to work with freed slaves. Then, in 1893, the American community of Josephites separated from their English counterparts, forming two independent entities. The Josephites in America were established to serve black Catholics in the Deep South to allow them to worship freely without feeling segregated. That segregation was often seen in churches that only allowed black churchgoers to sit in the balconies. The Josephites provided churches where the black parishioners could sit and worship anywhere they pleased.

  Father Patrick McCarthy was one such dedicated Josephite priest. He worked as the Pastor of an urban New Orleans church, tending to the needs of a predominantly African American parish. To this day, I often think of and am disturbed by Father McCarthy’s death.

  Around December 10, 1987, ex-con Marcus Hamilton was introduced by his half-brother, Bernard Joseph, to Father McCarthy. Having no place to stay, Hamilton sought shelter at the church and was given a temporary place to stay in the rectory. During the eight days Hamilton stayed at the rectory, the church secretary became alarmed by Hamilton’s demeanor and told Father McCarthy that she was afraid of Hamilton. After consulting with another Catholic priest who knew Hamilton and his family, Father McCarthy decided Hamilton had to move out of the rectory and told him he had to be out by Friday, December 18.

  On the morning of December 18, staff members found Father McCarthy dead on the floor of the rectory. He was dressed in a robe and was bound hand and foot with pieces of electrical cord. Another cord was wrapped around his neck.

  Investigation in New Orleans by the police and medical examiner ultimately determined the order of assault on Father McCarthy. He was first hit in the head/skull with a hammer-like object, and then he was bound and tied. Thereafter, an extension cord was wrapped around his neck, and he was stabbed several times in the throat. Next, salt was poured down Father McCarthy’s throat. Finally, he was strangled with the extension cord wrapped around his neck, which ultimately caused his death. Salt had also been poured on Father McCarthy’s eyes.

  Police determined Hamilton was gone, along with the parish’s vehicle, an unknown amount of cash, a television, a VCR, and a carpenter’s hammer. Hamilton’s fingerprints were found on a drinking glass in Father McCarthy’s bathroom, a strongbox on Father McCarthy’s desk, and on a drinking glass from another bedroom.

  Subsequently, the New Orleans Police Department requested that the FBI in New Orleans obtain an arrest warrant for unlawful flight to avoid prosecution for first-degree murder for Marcus Hamilton.

  On the afternoon of December 31, 1987, following leads provided to us by the New Orleans office, Agents Phil Stukes, Andy Tully, and I traveled to Baytown, Texas. Baytown is a city on I-10 about 30 miles east of Houston, and based on our leads, we believed that Hamilton was visiting an apartment complex there.

  Upon arriving, we observed Father McCarthy’s stolen Chevy Blazer parked in a covered parking area. The apartment where Marcus was thought to be staying was an end unit.

  There was construction taking place in the immediate area, so Phil Stukes donned my Southwestern Bell telephone company hardhat and went to the door of the apartment with a clipboard and pen in hand while Andy Tully and I hid just around the corner from the door with our backs up against the brick sidewall. Marcus Hamilton opened the door, Phil greeted Hamilton, and I spun around the corner and pointed my pistol in Hamilton’s face. He did not resist.

  After Hamilton was cuffed, Phil and I transported him to the FBI office in Houston. We sat down with Marcus in an interview room and started to talk. He stated that he understood his rights and signed an Advice of Rights form, and indicated that he was willing to speak with us. After some preliminary chatter, I told Marcus, “You know, Father McCarthy is dead; God knows what those cops in New Orleans are going to say about you. This is a good opportunity for you to get your side of the story on the record. You know the FBI doesn’t lie. We will only report what you tell us. You might not get a chance to talk to the FBI again.”

  I know I was
demeaning the New Orleans police, but as Hamilton was someone with a long history in the criminal justice system, it was a safe bet that he didn’t like the police, and in order to establish rapport, it made sense to take that tack. It seemed, at least partially, to work, as Marcus quickly admitted taking Father McCarthy’s Chevrolet Blazer. However, Marcus claimed that he hadn’t killed Father McCarthy, and he stayed with that story for some time.

  We worked to develop good rapport with him; we treated him with courtesy and respect and tried to show him that we were interested in him and that we enjoyed speaking with him. But, he continued to insist he hadn’t hurt Father McCarthy. He was not going for the murder. While I spoke with Marcus, I looked hard for something that I might use to help him hang his hat on with respect to rationalizing what he’d done to Father McCarthy.

  I decided on the spur of the moment to imply that Father McCarthy had made inappropriate advances and had provoked Marcus’s violent reaction, to see if Marcus would take the bait. I told Marcus, “I figure that Father McCarthy was coming on to you and you just lost control.” That thought seemed to immediately appeal to Marcus. You could see it in his eyes. He quickly considered it and decided that blaming the crime on the priest’s actions made sense. I would bet that Father McCarthy never made advances of a sexual nature towards Marcus Hamilton. But it was clear that, after thinking about it for a moment, my rationalization sounded good to Marcus, so he decided to run with it. It subsequently became part of his basis for appeal, which also included the claim that he had allegedly been abused by priests as a young man, although that might have been the work of an inventive defense attorney trying to keep his client off death row.